


heaving devotion

by glitteration



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Just so many feelings, M/M, Oral Sex, pre-canon Ark stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 23:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7952998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-canon. Kane helps Pike shave his head and then, the oral sex!</p>
            </blockquote>





	heaving devotion

_Snick_. _Snick_. _Snick_. His father's razor glides in quiet, satisfying strokes, exposing more of Charles' scalp with each pass.

"You should've come with me earlier. Oliveira got his hands on some of Farm Station's best, made the whole thing go by a lot faster."

Pausing mid-stroke, Marcus leans forward far enough to cock an eyebrow at the cheerful confession to a violation of the charter. "By 'Farm Station's best', you mean contraband?" It should be a real question. The laws are in place for a reason and members of the guard who abuse them are worse than citizens. He should ask for the names of each person who was there and make a list for the chancellor. 

He should do a lot of things, but Charles' teeth flash white in a delighted grin and he sighs, lips tugging up at the corners. "You could stand be a little less proud of ignoring your promise to uphold the rule of law."

Charles grin only grows wider. "I don't know, I think you're disappointed enough for the both of us. I'm here to provide a little balance."

Marcus huffs and rolls his eyes, but it's not untrue. Jake's marriage—it had been different than they'd thought, life beyond the boundaries of childhood and its selfish desires. Jake has a wife, and one day he'll have a child; Marcus has the guard, and for now he has Charles. "No, you're here to contribute to my moral decline."

The way Charles' laugh booms around his quarters and shakes a little life into the order twists the low, amused desire in his stomach into something infinitely more tender. Under the guise of returning to the task at hand, he steps back before Charles can read it on his face. 

_Snick_. _Snick_. _Snick_. Half Charles' head is bare now, and the tenderness swells higher. "I'm glad you had fun, but I wouldn't have enjoyed it."

"No, probably not." He sounds fond, as if they're discussing something other than Marcus' utter disinterest in socializing after-hours with people who ought to know better than to flout the rules. It's how they function; people like Charles, and Charles likes Marcus. He's the fulcrum between them, keeping his two circles functioning in good order and bringing them together. "But they don't call it our best for nothing."

This time, Marcus is the one who laughs, lapsing into a comfortable silence with nothing but little splashes and the sounds of their breathing and the razor's progress to accompany the environmentals. 

Finishing with one last stroke, Marcus runs a wet rag over the newly shorn expanse of scalp, shiny under the lights. 

"There. Done."

Charles runs a hand over his bare head, nodding appreciatively. "That's better. I can't get the back right without risking slicing off an ear, even without using a relic."

Marcus makes a face at the description of one of the few family heirlooms remaining from a time when their people lived on the ground as a 'relic', but he doesn't fight it. A hundred year old razor from an uninhabitable world _is_ a relic, by pure definition.

Feeling a tug at his middle, any thought of the razor flees at the sight of Charles' hand, fisted in his shirt and pulling him closer.

"So. Any ideas on how I can thank you?"

There's no hiding the red that stains his throat and cheeks. If it weren't bad enough that Charles has enough experience to be confident in what he wants, he's confident enough to be playful about it. Teenage fumblings and an inability to voice the host of things he'd like to try hardly compares.

"I—" At a loss for words, Marcus clears his throat and tries to push the words out. "I want to—" _Suck your cock_. They won't come and his flush burns brighter, creeping up the back of his ears.

Charles' face twists in concern, and he loosens his grip. "Hey, hey. Marcus, it's all right. I'm not expecting anything. I was—"

His words stutter to a stop as Marcus falls to his knees before him, palms rested flat on his inner thighs. 

"Can I?" That's _his_ voice he thinks, dimly, too caught up in the flash of realization and dawning lust on Charles' face. "Please, Charles."

"God." Charles' groan sounds forced out of his lungs, and he rocks forward a little in the chair. "Yeah, anything you want. Of course."

The rough canvas of their shared uniform rasps as Marcus runs his hands up Charles' thighs, digging his fingers into the taut muscles and glorying in the sounds that evokes. Unzipping his pants and pulling Charles' hardening cock up and out of his briefs, Marcus chances a glance upwards and moans low in his chest.

Charles is staring down at him like he's desperate for this. Desperate for Marcus, for what he can do to him.

Bolstered by the open _want_ , he slowly lowers his head and noses at Charles' lower belly, where the skin is soft and impossibly fragile. This close Charles smells like detergent and soap and the clean salt of sweat, underlaid by the loam of Farm Station and something he can't put a name to.

" _Marcus_." Charles doesn't quite surge forward, but the muscles under his lips jump. "Please. _Please_."

Humming a vague acknowledgement, Marcus presses a kiss to the spot before turning his attention to his cock, dark against his hand and thickening, liquid beading at the tip. Cautious, he licks at it, satisfaction settling in when Charles' breath rushes out of him like he's been punched. 

Emboldened, this time Marcus opens his mouth and tries to sink down, only to fall back on his heels coughing when Charles' hips jackrabbit up and his cock jabs hard against his soft palate.

"Sorry, sorry! Jesus, are you okay?"

It should affect his confidence (his own experience in the matter may only be on the receiving end, but the mechanics of giving someone else a blowjob seem simple enough) but Marcus only laughs, affection bubbling up out of him without filter. 

"I'm fine. If you could try not to do that again, though..."

The responding chuckle cuts off when Marcus leans in again, fitting his lips around the head of Charles' cock, running his thumb in absent circles where tight curls meet soft velvet. The loam smell is stronger now, like the soil he's spent his life surrounded by has seeped into his skin until he carries earth with him everywhere and Marcus breathes in deep, head spinning with it.

Sinking down farther is awkward until he finds the rhythm, a slow bob with his teeth tucked firmly behind his lips as Charles breathes in staccato bursts, thighs trembling with excitement or effort. 

Then Charles lays a gentle hand on his head, tangling in his hair and his whole body throbs. Whining around the heavy flesh in his mouth, Marcus stares up with pleading eyes and swallows convulsively, trying to give permission without the need to voice it.

For a moment the grip on his hair is punishing, then Charles lets go with a muttered apology and strokes his cheek. "So, that's all right? You like it?"

Relief warms his chest, and Marcus nods as best he can, squeezing a thigh in affirmation and gratitude. This time Charles slides his hand back to cup the back of his head, threading his fingers through the longer hair at his crown and it's all he can do not to thrust forward and try to relieve the ache building in his groin.

Instead, he redoubles his efforts, breathing in deep whuffs and pushing ever downward in stubborn half-centimeters until his body learns to relax and accept the new pressure without panicking and gagging again. Time rolls onwards in a sticky flow, a growing stiffness in his jaw and knees the only real testament to its passage.

" _Marcus_. Fuck—Marcus." Charles' voice breaks off into a ragged moan, thigh muscles jumping under his hands. "You can finish me off with your hand, if you want, but I need—"

His words are lost to another moan as Marcus does his best to take his cock as deep as he can in protest, wrapping his hand in a loose circle around the few inches his gag reflex won't allow him to reach.

Charles' hand tightens to the point of pain again but it fades into the background in his determination to see this through and watch Charles fall apart above him. The salty rush on his tongue almost makes him cough but he breathes through it, gentling his mouth and refusing to pull away until Charles uses the hand in his hair to tug him up and off.

"Back up a little." Falling down to his knees, Charles yanks him close and kisses him without any finesse, clacking their teeth together in his eagerness. _He's tasting himself._ The thought sinks into his gut and yanks violently sideways at the next. _Tasting himself on me_.

Moaning into the kiss, Marcus clings to Charles, pressing closer until they're flush together; thigh to thigh, torso to torso, shoulder to shoulder. The height difference isn't so marked when they're both on their knees, and he can lean into it now without feeling like a fool. 

"Can I do the same for you? Please, Marcus." Charles leans their foreheads together, soft panting matching Marcus' own. "I want to suck you off."

Helpless as puppet on strings, Marcus' chin jerks up and down in a frantic nod. That's not new, and the memory of the last time is almost enough to bring everything to an embarrassing end. 

" _Please_." It's more a croak than a word, but for some reason the way his vocal chords refuse to cooperate with his mind only makes Charles shudder against him and lean in a for a kiss that goes on until he's dizzy with it, too far gone to be anything but shameless. "Please, Charles, please, I want it. I want your mouth. I want you to—"

Later he'll have a bruise just over his tailbone, but remembering the growl Charles let out as he tackled him makes it worth it before the skin even shows the damage. Dimly he's aware of the sounds he's making, undignified grunts and moans interspersed with pleading and he can't summon up a reason to care and quiet down. His hands fly down to clutch at smooth skin, tracing the ridges and knobs of Charles' skull, unable to look away from the sight of his cock disappearing into Charles' mouth, red and wet around him and—"Charles, _please_!"

There's pressure at the skin just behind his balls and Marcus _sobs_ , hips thrusting up uncontrollably as he comes. This time it's his turn to bat Charles away from his over-sensitive flesh, and before he has to ask for it Charles is on the floor beside him, breathing slow and satisfied as they both come down. 

The floor leeches heat away bit by thieving bit, and once endorphins fade common sense rushes back in.

"We could aim for the bed, next time."

Charles' laugh is slow and sweet. Reaching out, he flicks Marcus' shoulder gently. "You criticizing my technique, Kane?"

Turning onto his side and then sitting up, Marcus rolls his neck, savoring the way it turns easily. With his muscles this lax, it's no wonder. "I said 'we', didn't I?" His knees pop a little as he stands. "Come on. Spend the night?" 

As soon as the words are out, he stills: that's another first, one he can't say Charles has ever hinted he has an interest in. Nerves creep in, only to be settled when the answer is a slow, sweet smile and Charles standing to steal another kiss.

Undressing together takes on an oddly domestic feel, heightened by their shared silence. Charles' shoes rest near the door, next to his; his uniform folded nearly in a pile on the dresser. They complete his solitary ritual in step, sliding beneath the covers together at the end. It should be awkward, but like so many things with Charles what should be isn't at all. 

"Don't wake me up when you leave for your rotation." Charles is still grinning, wide and silly like he's been given a gift. "I know your schedule, and at least one of us is going to sleep in today."

His shift is hardly _early_ but he doesn't make the correction, just lets his own smile grow in return. "And one of us is going to honor his commitment to the guard above hi—mmmm." This kiss is perfunctory, barely more than a peck. "You could just say 'stop talking, Marcus'."

"Stop talking, Marcus." Charles' breath fans over his lips, and Marcus feels his smile rather than sees it. "Go to sleep. Good night." With one last kiss, Charles rolls back to his side of the bed. 

"Good night, Charles."

Sleep comes easily.

**Author's Note:**

> It's going to bug me if I don't add that I know the show never confirmed that Pike and Kane met in the guard; however, given Pike's skillset outside Earth Skills and his close friendship with Kane, that's the only thing that makes sense.
> 
> This was supposed to be a lot more about military kink and head-shaving, but then feelings happened.


End file.
